7. Stone
Chapter 7
Stone
H er scent fills the cabin—fear and pain twisted together with something sweeter underneath, something that makes me want to growl. The medical kit trembles in my hands as I kneel beside the bed where I’d laid her down. Unconscious again, but her face is pinched with pain even in sleep.
Focus. Clinical. Think like a doctor, not an alpha.
But fuck, it’s hard when every instinct screams to protect, to soothe. No. Focus on the wounds first.
The gash on her arm needs immediate attention. It’s deep—not deep enough for stitches, thankfully, but it’s angry and red around the edges. The rest of her is a map of smaller cuts and bruises, evidence of what must have been a frantic run through the forest. Her clothes are torn, dirty, and there’s dirt under her fingernails. Her poor feet are also raw from what must have been her running barefoot the entire time.
Good God.
My hands clench around the antiseptic bottle.
Someone did this to her. Bound her. Blindfolded her. And left her out in the wilderness alone? Miles and miles of wild forest border our property on one side. There are cliffs, mountains, rivers, and not to mention wild animals with fangs and sharp teeth. It’s not the type of place suited for a delicate omega.
A growl builds in my chest before I can stop it and her body tenses even in unconsciousness, responding to the sound. I force myself to calm the fuck down and breathe. My scent will affect her, I know that. Need to keep it steady. Safe.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, though she can’t hear me. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”
The antiseptic will sting. No way around that. I clean the big gash first, as quickly and carefully as I can. She whimpers in her sleep, the sound hitting me like something physical. Every omega distress signal goes straight to something primal in me, but hers is different. Worse .
Because under the fear scent, under the pain, there’s something about her that makes me unsettled in a way I’ve never been before. Something that makes me want to wrap her in my scent until all trace of her fear is gone.
And that’s so fucking wrong on so many levels.
Get. A. Grip.
I force myself to keep working. Clean the wounds. Apply antibiotic cream. Bandage what needs bandaging. When I remove the rope that bound her hands behind her back, her wrists are so bruised my vision blurs red before I can control it.
What the hell happened to her? Who had her? How did she get here?
Questions for later. If she’ll even talk to me. The way she’d looked at me earlier. Like she’d expected…like she’d thought I would…
Another growl threatens. I swallow it back.
She doesn’t trust me. Though, apart from being a stranger she just met, I shudder to imagine why.
I know omegas who are skittish, meek, but never like this. Or maybe living with Finn for the past three years has clouded my experiences a bit .
No. This is different. Goes far past the bounds of normal omega behavior. I know, without anyone having to tell me, that something very wrong has been happening here. That something very wrong has been happening to her .
My hands hover over her torso, where her torn dress reveals hints of bruising along her ribs. She’s soft there, curvy in ways that make my mouth go dry. Even injured and unconscious, there’s something lush about her, something that makes me want to purr in appreciation. She’s not the typical delicate omega—she’s all generous curves and soft flesh that my hands itch to…
Fuck. I really am a piece of shit. What am I thinking ?!
I have Finn and in the three years since I bonded with him…I never…I’ve never… Despite the struggles and our pack falling apart, I’ve never looked at another omega.
So why the fuck …
I freeze. Staring down at the strange omega lying nestled in my cot.
It’s her scent…God, it’s her scent. Honey and vanilla and warm summer rain. Each breath drags it deeper, burning through my blood like lightning, awakening something fierce and hungry. My fingers flex with the need to grab, to pull closer, to bury my face against her throat and breathe her in until nothing else exists. I’ve never had an omega’s scent hit me this hard, tear through my control like tissue paper. Not even…fuck…not even Finn’s.
The realization hits me hard enough to make me stagger back from the cot. No. No, it can’t be. It’s impossible.
But the alpha in me knows. Has known since that first breath of her scent. Since that first whimper that tore through my chest like it was meant for me.
Scent match .
The word echoes in my head like a death knell. Because it can’t be. I already have an omega. Finn is mine— ours . Our bonded omega. The foundation of our pack, fractured as we are.
But I can’t deny what my body, my every instinct is screaming at me. This omega—this broken, terrified, beautiful omega—is our scent match.
Two omegas. One pack?
It’s more than rare. It’s practically mythical. Omegas are so rare it’s always one omega to a pack. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked.
My hands shake as I grip the edge of the medical kit. The implications are staggering. Terrifying. What does this mean for our pack? For Finn? For this omega who clearly carries enough trauma without adding this impossible situation to it?
And fuck—Jax and Ren. If she’s my scent match, she’s theirs too. The pack bond doesn’t lie. Doesn’t choose wrong. But how…? It was the pack bond that chose Finn, too. As far as I know, Finn wouldn’t have been a choice if our true scent match was out there.
None of this makes sense.
I fall on my ass, chest heaving as I stare at the soft thing on my cot. Her scent wraps around me again, honey-sweet and perfect, making me puff up with the need to protect, to claim, to… No. I already have an omega. We already have an omega. One who’s hurting, who needs us to fix what’s broken between us all.
I can’t… We can’t…
But as I watch her chest rise and fall in sleep, as that devastating scent fills my lungs, I know it’s already too late. There’s no taking this back, no fighting the way my very DNA recognizes her as mine. Ours .
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I stay there staring at her for what feels like hours. All the while she rests.
All I can think about is what the hell am I going to tell the others? How the hell will I even explain this?
For long, strained minutes, I sit there frozen. Frozen until the omega whimpers in her sleep and I almost bust my knee in the way I hurry back to her side.
Fuck.
I stare down at her as she settles back into rest that she obviously so badly needs.
I need to check her ribs to ensure none are broken, but touching her there feels too intimate. Too much. Especially when she’s unconscious and can’t consent. Especially now that I know what she is. Just who she is to me. To us. But if something’s broken…
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, gentling my touch as much as possible as I probe the bruised area. Nothing seems broken, thank god, just badly bruised. She whimpers in her sleep, instinctively trying to curl away from the pain, and that honey-sweet scent spikes with distress.
Something primitive and fierce tears through my chest at that fear-scent, a need so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees. Every instinct demands I pull her close, shelter her with my body, growl promises of safety until that sour note of terror disappears from her sweet scent. The intensity of the urge staggers me.
My teeth bare in a snarl as I brace against the bed, fighting urges I never knew would hit me so hard this day. I try to rein it in. If she wakes to see me like this, that terror she displayed before will only worsen.
The omega shifts again, making a small sound of pain, and I realize I’m leaning too close, my own scent probably overwhelming her even in sleep. Forcing myself back, I focus on finishing the first aid. Her feet need attention next. The thought of her running blind, bound, terrified enough to tear her feet to shreds…
Red edges my vision again. I need to calm down. Need to think clearly.
She needs food. Clean clothes. More medical supplies than what I keep in this basic kit. Which means going back to the house. The thought of leaving her alone, even briefly, makes me snarl at myself in protest. But I don’t have a choice.
One final check of her bandages, and I stand. She looks small on the cot, despite her curvy frame. Vulnerable. The urge to scent-mark her, to leave some kind of protection while I’m gone, is nearly overwhelming.
But I would be fucking mad to do something as drastic as that. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Instead of doing something so obviously insane, I carefully drape my jacket over her again. Her body instantly relaxes into it, seeking comfort in my scent even while her conscious mind fears me. The sight does something to my chest that I don’t want to examine too closely.
I need to go. Need to hurry back. Need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with an injured, terrified omega who’s running from something bad enough to leave these kinds of marks. An omega who, it turns out, has run onto our property when the universe has marked her as ours. The odds are just too much to consider in detail.
First, I need to get through what might be the hardest part—facing my pack mates without giving away that everything in our world has just shifted on its axis.